Sometimes I feel like…
…somebody’s watching me.
…somebody’s watching me.
More of my love letters to bees:
All my photos look the same
Petal nests
Fruitless Fall
Oh, for a bee’s experience
Fairy dust
Sign on the door of the restroom at Ria’s Bluebird Cafe in Atlanta.
I’m swiping this photo from my dad, who has a knack for catching my children at their funniest. It’s a small taste of the hijinks that took place here in our absence. Our trip was terrific, but oh, it’s good to be home!
The view from our window on the runway in Atlanta, where we sat for over two hours. And consequently missed our connection in Phoenix. Sorry, Mom & Dad & kids. I’m writing from the hotel where we spent the night. We’re on our way back to the airport to catch an early flight home.
(Incidental note. Unable to concentrate for longer spans, yesterday all I could read were the beginnings of things—first chapters I’d downloaded to my Kindle. The new Rob Lowe autobiography; Tina Fey’s Bossypants, which had both Scott and me in giggles; A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan; Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses; and Melissa Coleman’s This Life Is in Your Hands: One Dream, Sixty Acres, and a Family Undone.)
Updated to add: I forgot my favorite of the first chapters! The Lost Summer of Louisa May Alcott by Kelly O’Connor McNees. It is off to a most intriguing start. If I’d had a 3G connection at the time, I’d have been sorely tempted to click that “Buy the book” button.)
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